


A Christmas Holiday

by consultinggalpals (sansa_undergrind)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Honeymoon, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, basically just a big spoonful of fluff, gross misuse of national monuments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansa_undergrind/pseuds/consultinggalpals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come <em>on</em>, Sherlock. Just take the picture already."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IamJohnLocked4life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/gifts).



> This is the fluffy part of the smut santa I sent to JL4L; she encouraged me to post it because. I mean. It's pure sodding fluff. It didn't even have a title so I had to use my extraordinary powers of imagination. Alas I failed.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Come _on_ , Sherlock. Just take the picture already."

Sherlock was doubled over, breathless with laughter, and the camera shook in his grasp.

"I'm—I'm sorry John. But you… this is just so… _ludicrous._ "

John looked like he could barely contain his mirth himself, bent backwards in such an awkward pose.

"Yes Sherlock, that _is_ rather the point. It's meant to be a silly picture, now get _on_ with it, my back is killing me."

Sherlock bit his lower lip and rose his unsteady hands once again. He snapped three pictures in quick succession.

"There," he said before grinning once more at the ridiculous man he had decided to call husband.

"Okay, let me just…" John trailed off as he stretched, shaking his limbs with a grunt. “Let’s have a look.”

Sherlock handed over the camera, closing the gap between them to look at the pictures from above John’s shoulder. John snorted an amused laughter, as he scrolled through them. In each John stood facing the camera three-quarters, his hands propped against his hips and a smug grin on his face. In the background, the leaning tower stood at attention, the angle making it so that it seemed to protrude straight from between John’s thighs.

It was unbelievably crass and they could barely contain their giggles.

The pose had been John’s idea, something Lestrade and possibly half of the Yarders were sure to find amusing. The idea to send it as a joint Christmas card was Sherlock’s, but it was to be expected, seeing as this was their first Christmas as a married couple, after all.

Sherlock curled his arms around John’s waist, the ring on his left hand glinting in the bright December sun, and nudged at his hips. “Talk about a well-endowed gentleman,” he murmured in John’s ear. All traces of laughter were suddenly gone from his voice.

“Yeah, well you would know.” John was still grinning madly as he leaned into the touch, his own gloved palm coming to rest over Sherlock’s slightly chilly fingers. “Sherlock, I know we’re in Italy, but put some gloves on, your hands are freezing.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock nuzzled at John’s hairline. “Maybe I’d rather put them on your bum to warm them up.”

John huffed yet another breathless laughter as he shook his head affectionately. “You madman, you’ll get us arrested.”

“Fine,” Sherlock sighed in John’s hair. “I’ll settle for the pockets of your jacket then.”

Despite the lovely weather, they were almost alone in the big square and they stood like that a while, drinking it all in. The sun was warm on their faces and the sky a dizzying blue. Everything vibrated with colour and light, something neither of them had anticipated, and it seemed unfair to compare it to England’s endless overcast skies. After a bit, Sherlock gave a traitorous shiver, his fingers burrowing deeper into John’s coat pockets.

“Right, I think it’s time for a hot chocolate. What say you, limpet?”

Sherlock mumbled his annoyance at being forced to remove himself from John’s back, but acquiesced nonetheless, taking John’s hand in his and steering them both towards the main road. They left the tower and the cathedral at their back, winding through a stream of people bustling towards the centre and its shops. Sherlock kept dismissing cafés one after the other, claiming they were too touristy, too local, too expensive, too cheap.

By the time they were almost at the river, John had lost all hope of ever finding a quiet spot to sit down and was considering suggesting they make their way back to the hotel. He wouldn’t have minded warming up with a hot bath and the prospect of having his husband join him was enticing to say the least. Just then, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and pulled John into a small café he had all but missed, nestled as it was between an imposing church and an 18th century stuccoed building.

The café was warm and cosy, almost too small but blessedly desert of noisy tourists. They sank into an overstuffed sofa in the corner and shed their coats. A spry girl with a nose piercing came to take their orders in lightly accented English, but Sherlock replied in his own smooth Italian. They settled in, Sherlock toying absently with the golden band on John’s left hand while John watched him, hypnotised. They were touching from shoulder to hip to knee, but still it was not enough. John wanted to crawl into Sherlock’s lap, press every inch of his body against Sherlock’s and nestle his face into his neck.

“You look lovely,” he said past the lump in his throat, because Sherlock did. His cheeks ruddy due to the cold wind and his hair tousled; his lips plump and just a tiny bit chapped. It made John ache with the desire to kiss, taste, bite, _own_. He settled on tightening his grip on Sherlock’s hand instead.

Sherlock looked up from where he was studying John’s hand in his. His bashful glance from underneath his lashes was testing any restraint John might have had, and he leant in, pressing his lips to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth in the briefest of kisses. Sherlock turned his head, chasing John’s lips and meeting them with a soft sigh. They kissed leisurely for a while, lips barely parted, neither of them rushing forward with tongues and teeth. There would be plenty of time later for that.

They were interrupted by the same waitress settling a couple of steaming mugs in front of them. She smiled at the two of them fondly before disappearing again, and John couldn’t help but feel a heated wave of fondness surging in his chest as he looked back at his husband. Sherlock had released John’s hand briefly to take a sip of the rich chocolatey drink and when he lowered the mug there was a thin brown moustache on his upper lip which John could not resist kissing away. Sherlock snorted a laughter into John’s mouth and John kissed that too, and when Sherlock sighed and leant forward to press their lips together again, John tasted chocolate and whipped cream and most importantly, he tasted a glowing warm happiness that he wanted to never let go of.

This was their life now, drinking hot chocolate pressed together on a comfy couch in a café in Italy on their honeymoon. Whatever had they done right in their life to deserve this?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] for A Christmas Holiday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789830) by [IamJohnLocked4art (IamJohnLocked4life)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/pseuds/IamJohnLocked4art)




End file.
